


Trust Exercise

by ShevatheGun



Series: The Mistress: The Rise and Regrets of Tora Naprem [4]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: (Not of Naprem), Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Cardassians, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Occupation of Bajor, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5762134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShevatheGun/pseuds/ShevatheGun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a group of soldiers from Gallitep threaten the women in her sleeping quarters, Tora Naprem takes matters into her own hands, and takes a chance on the new Prefect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust Exercise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Calamity_Lena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calamity_Lena/gifts).



> [EDIT 03/31/2016:] Mostly because I just can't be assed, I'm going to include this in the Mistress series proper, where it belongs. If you've gotten here chronologically, just know that I'm still writing about Naprem's various adventures pre-Dukat. That will continue, but I'm going to start posting the rest of it too because, as I've said, I just can't be assed.
> 
> This story is the first I ever wrote starring Naprem. It takes place approximately two months after Dukat becomes Prefect of Bajor. As I did the first time, I'm gifting it to Lena. Look what we've made, babe!

**Terok Nor - First Summer, 2352 - 33rd Year of the Occupation**

* * *

 

It isn't that Naprem knows them well - the group quarters in Section 35 is overcrowded, with some two or three women per bed, usually knotted together on a hard cot in sleep, or lying shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor, which is only incrementally harder than the cots. Talking isn't allowed after lights out, so she's never spoken to them herself. That she knows their names at all is a result of her station: the twin sisters, Tolo Rhya and Tolo Jarain; Kanya Iney, a matronly woman with a bad leg; Oyam Aipa, who lost a finger in an accident two months ago; Fekak Oferea, who is barely more than a child, and has been disciplined several times for collecting heart-shaped rocks in her pockets.

But all the women notice their absence. They aren't there at last call, and the guards who collect them are part of the new group that shipped in a few days ago from Gallitep. They walk strangely, as though they're planning to start a fight with whomever makes eye contact first. They all but push the women into their quarters. Naprem doesn't know their names (which is strange enough, considering) but she's seen the look in their eyes before, in the eyes of a starving dog right before it lunged at a young child.

The guards come through and do their nightly headcount. None of them mention the missing girls. Naprem pushes herself back against the wall as they pass, and she sees one linger, tail flicking slowly as he studies her face.

"Lights out," says one of the guards. And then they stand there in the doorway, a brace of soldiers like a fence, staring into the darkened room, and the women stare back.

Kranti Koafa is the one to speak first, which Naprem feels she should've anticipated. They sheared Kranti bald a few weeks ago for speaking out of turn, and since then her eyes have taken on a strange, manic gleam.

"Where are the women from group 17B?" she asks, loudly, from near the front of the room.

One of the soldiers smiles in a way that makes Naprem feel like she's bitten into something rotten. "They've been... reassigned for the evening."

Something twists through the room; a dark, ugly horror.

"You can't do that," Taapi says, voice shaking. "Gul Dukat won't allow it."

The soldier laughs aloud. "Gul Dukat will never know."

The other smiles that hungry, horrible smile. "Assuming you all behave, they'll be returned to you in the morning."

Naprem turns to the woman next to her, whispering so soft she barely hears the words in her own mouth: "Let me under the bed."

Naprem has known about the loose grate for months. She's never had the opportunity to try it -- too risky -- but she does now, carefully, moving as slowly and subtly as possible, hidden under the cot. She prays silently with everything she has.

"Where are they?" Kranti asks. "What are you doing to them?"

"Whatever we like," one of the soldiers says. "Same as we'll do to you."

The grate slides free from the wall, blessedly silent.

"Where are they?!" Votas yells from the back of the room.

"I saw them in Mine 236," Jisyi says, "They took them! They took them!" and the room erupts into chaos.

"Silence!" one of the soldiers yells.

"You heartless, godless--" Kranti shouts, and then the clamor drowns her out, and Naprem pushes herself through the grate, scrambling through the vents with her own heart thundering.

* * *

It's a long crawl to the promenade; the vents are so tight that she gets stuck more than once. She freezes every time she hears footsteps overhead, blood ice cold, heart beating so fast it hurts. She loses circulation in her legs a few times, dirt and grime coating her arms, blackening her hands. She tries not to think anything at all -- survive, she tells herself, survive. But she can feel the anguished screams of all the people she can't protect burning through her chest, echoing in her brain.

She doesn't know how long it is before she reaches a spot where she can emerge from the grate. She waits a long time, listening hard to the silence until her ears ache too, and then she lets herself out, carefully. The grate squeaks, and her heart jolts, but no one comes, and so she creeps out.

For a moment she's paralyzed with indecision -- if she guesses wrong, she's almost certainly dead -- but if he was in Ops he'd know about this, wouldn't he? And then her feet are moving, and she's dizzy with adrenaline so it's easy to break into a run, to push into a sprint, to run pellmell through the halls, zagging around sharp corners.

She's halfway there when a soldier spots her -- Security Chief Lukin, who looks tired as he polishes his phaser, and almost misses her as she passes.

"Hey!" he yells, but she's past him already, and his voice sends a jolt of fear through her so powerful that it gives her another burst of speed.

She hears him fall to all fours behind her, and she leaps aside, scrambling as he swipes at her. She throws herself around a corner, and she can see the door from down the hall, even as the four posted guards lock eyes with her.

She leaps over one that dives for her, ducks through the arms of another, scrambles over yet another. It's Gil Alomar who finally gets a good hold on her, just as her fist makes contact with Dukat's door.

She shouts and they wrestle her away, but the scuffle's loud, and none of them think to cover her mouth.

"Dukat!" she yells. " _Gul Dukat_!"

And even as Alomar yanks her back by the hair, the doors whoosh open and Dukat appears as if summoned, flanked by Glinn Damar and Glinn Asklat.

"Apologies, Gul Dukat," Lukin says. "She must've escaped containment. She'll be dealt with."

But Dukat puts out his hand to stop them, brow creased. "Tora," he says. "What's the meaning of this?"

She tries to stay coherent, but it all comes out in a rush: "Gul Dukat, please, it's the soldiers from Gallitep, they took some of the women from our bunk, I don't know when, they're going to, please, you have to stop them, they're--" She can't catch her breath, and her mind spins.

"Let her go," Dukat says, sharply.

"Sir," the soldiers protest.

" _Release_ her."

They do, slowly, Lukin last of all, falling back to glare at her. Dukat moves forward, taking her by the shoulder.

"You're shaking," he says, in a tone of voice she has trouble understanding.

Naprem breathes, unable to think of anything to say. He examines her face.

"Now," he says. "Tell me what you need to tell me. Slowly this time."

She swallows air, trying to move slowly when it feels like the whole world is going in slow motion. "The men from Gallitep - I don't know their names - seven of them, I think. They were responsible for lights out for my group tonight. Only three of them escorted us. When we got back to our quarters, we saw that a few women were missing. Five. We asked where they were, and--"

He interrupts her, face transformed into something fierce, a growing fire. "Where?" he asks, his voice tempered with a snarl.

"Mine 236," she says. "Gul Dukat, please. They said they were-- they said you'd never know."

"Take her inside," Dukat says to Damar. "Let no one in until I come back."

"Yes, sir," Damar says.

"With me," Dukat says to the group, and then he's down the hallway like a shot.

* * *

Damar stands in front of the door with his arms crossed, watching her. Naprem sits very still in a chair near Dukat's desk, feeling strangely fragile. The adrenaline makes her feel like a body made up of only skin, as though her muscles and bones have been replaced with air. She stares at the floor and tries, again, to think of nothing. Her thoughts are fragmentary - pieces of shrapnel whirling directionlessly around her brain. Her whole body aches.

She doesn't know how long it is before Dukat returns. Her perception of time is warped and uneven. When he comes back into the room, she jumps a little -- his feathers are mussed, and there's dark splotches of blood on his neck and chest armor. His face is frighteningly grim.

"Damar," he says. "If you'd please prepare a video conference in my office with Central Command."

"Yes, sir," Damar says, and then he steps out of the room.

Dukat pauses, leaning against the door for a moment. He covers his face with his hand, tail pressing close to his leg. She looks away to give him a moment to himself.

"You don't need to avoid my eyes, Tora," he says.

She looks back and finds him gazing at her. He hasn't moved from the door.

"Habit," she says, refusing to apologize, and the jagged edge of her words appears to catch a soft part of him. His jaw flexes with displeasure.

"Are the girls alright?" she asks.

Dukat purses his lips. "They're alive," he says.

Naprem swallows hard and closes her eyes. She lets herself pray again, silently.

"And the soldiers?" she asks.

"...a few may live to transfer," Dukat says.

Naprem swallows again. She clasps her hands together in her lap. But she opens her eyes. She won't pity them. They don't deserve it.

Dukat walks forward slowly, feet rasping a little over the metalwork of the floor.

"You escaped your quarters," he says. "How?"

Naprem meets his gaze and says nothing. He stares back at her - she sees his eyes flick between the features of her face, settling briefly on her lips as he searches her for clues to her indiscretion.

"Tora," he says. "You know I'll find out eventually."

"Yes," she says. "You probably will."

"So why not tell me? It would be much easier that way."

"I think it’s better I don’t," she says.

He draws a chair out from the table and sits down across from her.

"You were out in violation of your curfew," he says. "I trust you understand I can't allow that to go unpunished."

"Well, I was hoping you'd punish me for humiliating your men, too. But I suppose we can't have everything."

Dukat lets out a breathless laugh that seems to catch him by surprise.

"Does anything scare you, Tora?" he asks.

"Many things, sir."

"But not the thought of punishment? I'm disappointed. We Cardassians tend to take pride in our fearful reputations."

"Not when others are at stake," she says. "No."

He sobers, then, and again he studies her intently. She studies him in return: his long, thin limbs and the sloping ridges that cup his cheeks; the deep impression on his forehead and the thick row of ridges along his neck. For all his angles, his eyes are the sharpest part of him.

"You don't need to call me ‘sir’," he says. "Not here."

Before she can respond, he says: "When you escaped, you came here. You came to me. Why? How did you know I would help you?"

"I didn't," she says.

"Then why?"

"I had to do something," she says. "You were the only one with the power to stop them. And you seem to dislike unnecessary suffering. I didn't know if you would help. But I hoped you would. It was the only option I had."

"Why not attack them yourself?" he asks.

"There were three of them. They had phasers. I had nothing."

"Ah," Dukat says, sitting forward. "But that’s not entirely true, is it? I’ve seen the barracks - those women were ready to riot. There were only three guards. Had you rallied together, they couldn’t possibly have killed all of you."

Naprem feels her chest tighten.

“A Gul hears things, Tora,” he says. He's watching her with such intensity that she feels almost rooted to the spot, strangely hypnotized. “Your file indicates you've been at the center of several riots in your time.”

“Most Bajorans have,” she says, weakly.

“It isn't usually deemed so noteworthy.”

“I don't start them."

“Why not?” he asks, with thinly veiled curiosity.

"I don't like violence," she says.

Dukat regards her for a moment, then sits back slowly. He sighs.

"No," he says. "I suppose you don't."

And then, after a moment, he says, "You're a noble woman, Tora. I admire you."

Naprem blinks. She feels like she's in a surrealist painting. "You admire _me_ , sir?"

"Tora, please," he says, making a face. "'Dukat' will suffice. Skrain, even, if you'd like."

He must sense that she doesn't know how to respond - perhaps he sees the hamstrung look on her face - or perhaps he simply enjoys the sound of his own voice. "I'll have to consider your punishment later. Central Command will expect your reprimand to be severe, and occur presently. But... I'm grateful you came to me."

"Is this where you tell me to go back to my quarters and await my spanking?" Naprem asks.

Dukat barks out another laugh. "Tora," he laughs, "You really _must_ do something about that sense of humor. It'll get you killed."

"I'm Bajoran," she says. " _That_ will easily suffice to get me killed."

"I hope that won't be the case," Dukat says.

Naprem blinks, shocked that he'd say as much. "...that makes two of us, sir."

Dukat wrinkles his nose. "Tora."

"...Gul Dukat," she says, stiffly.

He smiles at her slowly. "Was that so hard?"

"It isn't the difficulty that's stopping me, sir," she says.

Dukat tips his head just so.

“...Gul Dukat,” she says.

"Would you mind if I accompanied you back to your quarters?" he asks, seeming to fight back another grin.

"Do you think the women really need to see you twice in one night?"

"I'd like them to see that I haven't done anything untoward to you," he says.

Naprem looks him over.

"I suppose I'll allow it," she says.

Dukat laughs again, and she finds, to her dismay, that she likes it.


End file.
